


Marley Was Dead To Begin With...

by bwblack



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:17:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwblack/pseuds/bwblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What did you get your brother for Christmas?"</p><p>"I haven't a clue."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marley Was Dead To Begin With...

Christmas Eve morning John sat in his usual arm chair and looked at his computer screen. He had four hours to come up with an excuse to decline his sister’s invitation to her annual Christmas bash. He had no desire to go. He had no better plans.

Sherlock sat in the opposite chair scanning the pages of a book. John honestly had no idea if Sherlock was an accomplished speed reader or if the book was simply something Sherlock fiddled with while he thought of other things, “Good book?”

“Alright.”

“What is it, then?” Sherlock read as many medical journals as John read himself, works on the variations of markings common to tree frogs, industry reports on the tensile strength of any number of materials, and an remarkable number of works on beekeeping. John never had any idea at all what he might find when he grabbed something off Sherlock’s shelves.

“A Christmas Carol.”

“Dickens?”

“There is another?”

“No… yes… about a million… but it doesn’t….” John trailed off, it wasn’t worth it. He would wager a good deal of money that Sherlock was reading nothing of the sort.

Sherlock studied John for a brief moment. John tensed waiting to hear Sherlock to reveal some truth about John’s reticence to face his holiday plans. “Marley was dead to begin with?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock nodded and resumed flipping the pages of the book in front of him.

John checked the time on his phone and sighed . “Tea?” He got up from his chair and rolled his shoulders. They were stiff. He wondered if it was the effect of the cold weather on his injured joint or if was a phantom memory of his last Christmas. Seeing his sister was bound to be better than Camp Bastion field hospital. “I should pack, really. Harry’s….”

“You bough her a lucky cat for Christmas?”

“She’s such an avid follower of my blog. Thought she’d like proof it wasn’t all fiction. What was it you said you were getting Mycroft?”

“I have no idea.” Sherlock responded. John was pretty sure Sherlock had said the exact same thing the previous night.

“Leaving it a little late?”

Sherlock looked up, frowning. “I’ve had it all for weeks now.”

“Then what is it?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“Haven’t a clue?” He smirked. “Rare for you.”

Sherlock regarded his friend for a moment and nodded curtly. “Yes, that’s not all together accurate…

I suppose.” Sherlock resumed reading a book that John still greatly doubted had anything whatever to do with Christmas.

“So, what did you get Mycroft for Christmas?”

“I am not certain.”

“Not certain?” John shook his head. Why did he let himself get drawn into these conversations? Anything to keep him from climbing the stairs and committing to a holiday with his sister? Or had he really grown fond of Sherlock’s brand of logic? “What do you mean?”

 

“Based on a number of factors I can make an educated guess about the contents of the packages I purchased for my brother. However, I am not 100 percent certain.”

“More.” John prodded.

“I purchased a tin of something in the bargain bin… dented, no label… that used to make a better gift, now so few cans have paper labels… “ Sherlock sighed, “once you factor in the weight of the can and the sound it makes when tossed about… It’s rather obvious… “

“Your brother works for the government.”

“My brother is the government.”

“I try very hard not to think about that. He is an important man and you bought him an unlabeled tin of tomatoes?”

“Not tomatoes… I don’t think.”

“Sherlock…”

“If I know, Mycroft would know. I go to great pains never to know what I’ve gotten him for Christmas.”

“So every year he gets something dodgy and unmarked?”

“That is just for his stocking…. It’s only the start.”

“What else then?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock stood and crossed so quickly that John had hardly registered the movement. “The walls,” Sherlock whispered mere centimeters from John’s skin, “have ears.”

John shivered the hot breath tickling the sensitive area below his right ear. “Yes, well, I …” He pressed his eyes closed, took a deep breath and tried desperately to keep from stammering. “I should go.”

“You should come…” Sherlock shifted his body blocking John’s path to the stairs.

John looked up, uncertain.

“To Christmas.”

“Imagine the Christmases.” John grinned. “Your brother said that to me the first day we met.”

“Come.” Sherlock repeated.

“I have Harry.”

“You don’t want Harry.”

“No.”

“But you’re going anyway.”

“Yes.”

Sherlock nodded. “Both then, I go to your family thing with you, you come to mine with me.”

“It could be bloody awful at Harry’s… “

“You’ve met Mycroft.”

“Yes. “

“So we’re agreed?”

“I have to pack.” John said.

“I’ll finish my book.”

“You need to pack.”

“I packed last night.”

“When did you decide….” John stopped, shook his head, and stepped around Sherlock and started up the stairs, “Marley was dead as a doornail.”

“I think the housekeeper did it!”


End file.
